The Lonely
by Luxor Nautalis
Summary: Dancing slowly in an empty room. Can the lonely take the place of you? I sing myself a quiet lullaby. Let you go and let the lonely in to take my heart again. A/O Alex is alone in Wisconsin, with only her ghost as company.


**Disclaimer;** I do not own Law and Order: SVU, their characters, their plot, theme or names, and I do not claim ownership to them. However, I DO claim ownership to my writing, so please don't steal =)

**Authors Note: **This fic is strongly based off of the song "Lonely" by Christina Perri. Though I'm against making it a songfic, because people rarely read the lyrics (I don't...) I would advise you listen to it while reading this. Not only is it an amazing song, emotional and very heartfelt, it couldn't fit the Alex x Olivia situation any better. Seriously, listen to it...

That being said, this takes place after "Loss" and before "Ghost", while Alex is in Wisconsin in WitSec.

**Rating; **T, but be warned, very emotional.

**Pair; **Olivia x Alex

It was Tuesday.

Tuesday, the horrible day her life had ended. Or at least, at least Alexandra Cabot. She's not that woman, not anymore. Instead, she's Emily Porter, claims adjuster from Tulsa. It would be convenient, if she didn't have all of Alexandra Cabot's memories, all her emotions and all her pain.

She never allows herself to be that woman. She forces herself to be the shy and bashful Emily. Only on Tuesdays is she once more the blonde prosecutor, the 'Ice Queen', bane of defense lawyers and perpetrators. Only on Tuesdays does she allow herself to be Alex, lover to Olivia.

She doesn't know who she is anymore. Where once she was full of life, bursting at the seams with enthusiasm for her job, her life, her lover, now she is empty. A shell. Alexandra Cabot might be alive in body, but she is truly dead. That fateful bullet did claim her life that fateful Tuesday night. She did, indeed, bleed out in her lover's arms.

She misses who she was. She wants to be that person again, not the one she is now. Being a ghost, though...it was all she has. She can never be Alex Cabot again, not in this place. Not in this town, in this nowhere town in a nobody state. She can only be a phantom, floating through the halls, emotionless. Going through the motions from day to day. Only on Tuesdays does she allow herself to feel.

She doesn't want to. She doesn't want to feel the all encompassing grief. Being dead has it's advantages. It allows her to suffocate without actually feeling her lungs scream for oxygen. It allows her to bleed without her heart beating it's last. But every Tuesday, like clockwork, she goes through different motions, lost in a tempest sea, waiting to drown.

She's alone, like she always is on Tuesdays. Her small house, homey and quaint, is dark, only the bright light of the full moon illuminating it through the windows. He used to ask to come home with her, and any other night, she would say yes, but not on Tuesdays. Tuesdays are for her and her ghost, no one else. Eventually, he caught on and stopped asking on that particular day, leaving her in peace and loneliness.

She's lost track of the number of glasses of wine that she's had, but her tears seemed to dull the taste and it only left her craving more. She doesn't bother looking at the clock as she swallows another gulp of the bitter liquid, knowing she won't like what the numbers read.

But she can't go to bed. She can't open the door to her room and look upon the four-poster without remembered everything.

The feel of Olivia's breath on her skin. The sound of her voice gasping the name of a person she isn't anymore. The feel of phantom fingers haunt her when she lays in that bed. The mirage of lips taunt her when she sleeps, never dreamless. It only reminds her of what she knows intimately. She's alone. Always alone, even when he's with her.

Instead, she sets the wine glass on her counter, her hands shaking. She doesn't bother wiping the tears from her face, or blowing her runny nose. She simply moves, mindless but not unthinking. Her mind is in turmoil, as it always is on Tuesday.

Any other day, she can dam the flood of memories. But not on Tuesday. On Tuesday the dam breaks, the flood returns, and she's left to drown. Finally.

Tomorrow, she will be forced to reconstruct the dam, to rebuild it to keep the tides at bay, but tonight she allows herself to be awash.

The living room, complete with a plush couch, coffee table and entertainment center is her dance floor, newly transformed. Only tonight will it act as such. Tomorrow, it will be her living room again, and she'll sit on the couch and watch the news or some pointless documentary that is as interesting as she is living.

Tonight, though, it's her dance floor. She sways to the music only she can hear, and her ghost at last visits her. Arms wrap around her waist, pulling her close. A face nuzzles into her neck, lips placing feather-soft kisses on her collar bone and shoulder. A voice sings along to the lyrics, so soft as it whispers against her skin.

She knows the words as intimately as she knows her phantom lover's body. She knows the chords as intimately as the words. They play, stuck on a constant repeat, in her head, accompanied by that voice.

It isn't long before she starts to sing along, her eyes still firmly shut, allowing her mind to reply the very moment this song first played. The first time those arms every held her as they swayed together. Their first dance, and their last.

She remembers a time when she knew what it felt like, to love. But she doesn't have love, not anymore. She has shadows, shadows that even now seem to take shape around her, pointing and laughing. Their mocking voices only remind her of what she's lost. They point to the empty hole in her chest, the hollow cavern where her heart once lived, and she can hear them taunting her. Laughing.

It echoes in her head, their laughter, and the sound of it chases away the song. With the song goes the feel of her ghost's arms, the caress of her lips and the sound of her voice, and no matter how hard she tries to hold onto them, she can't.

_Alex. No, no no no no no no no. Somebody call an ambulance! Call nine one one! Now! Alex. It's ok Alex. Alex look at me. It's ok sweetheart. Stay with me. Stay with me. Stay with me Alex. They're on their way now. It's going to be ok. Alex you're going to be ok. Alex look at me. You're going to be just fine. You're going to be just fine. Just stay with me. Hey Alex Alex Alex, it's ok._

That sweet voice, belonging only to her phantom lover, echos in her skull, chasing away everything else. She wants to make it go away, but no matter how hard she tries, she can't. Instead, her knees give out beneath her, her fragile body collapsing on the soft, cream colored carpet.

She's waking up, now, only it's not to the brown eyes she longed to see. Instead, it's a different pair of brown eyes, darker, less soulful. Eyes belonging to the man that orchestrated her true death, belonging to the man that killed her in truth.

_"You're better off dead. We'll put you in Witness Protection. They won't be able to find you...you'll be safe, and alive." _

What he didn't understand was that she wouldn't be alive at all. She would never be alive again, not until the arms of her ghost became real. Not until that phantom voice wasn't only in her mind. But not today. Today, she's alone, her only company the shadows that taunt her and her silent tears.

She hates Tuesdays, but at the same time, she loves them. She endures the flood, the loneliness and the shadows because Tuesdays are the only nights that her ghost visits her. It's the only night she feels alive, even if she's not.

**Parting words;** Okay, so don't be ashamed if you cried...I did too ;D Anyway, I hope you liked it. Please, leave me a review and let me know what you thought. Reviews are the air I breathe! Much Love, Luxor.


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